"What in Sol inspired you to launch those containers with the exploding mining bags and how did you know it would work?" His accent was thick, like the Russian accents I had heard in vids.
"To be honest, it worked a lot better than I thought it would. We use those bags to break apart rock shelves but we never expect the rock to move very far. It is really just to cause it to separate so we can collect it faster. It was Nick’s idea to use the station foam on those guys in the security control tower. That was genius." As the words left my mouth I realized I'd never attributed that action to Nick before and he might think I blamed him for my lost foot.
Commander Sterra must have picked up on it but took a path I wouldn’t have considered, "Liam, how are you adjusting to life without your foot?"
I paused. "It's weird. Since I don’t have much feeling down there, sometimes I trip on things. I haven’t been able to get back to mining because I can’t yet use most of the equipment. Truthfully, I don’t see that I will be going back to that life."
"Would you do it again, knowing the price?" she asked.
"How could we not? They were shooting at our families. Tabby’s dad works in that refinery. My dad was being shot at. We couldn't know what other damage the pirates would cause after they had the freighter loaded. They had total control of the perimeter defenses. Judging by the number of missiles and slug-throwers on that ship we captured, I think they could have caused damage for days. So yeah, I would do it again."
"That’s right, Liam. You three stood against lawlessness in our universe which makes what I have to say even harder. I want you to hear this Liam. Sacrifice is giving up something of value for the benefit of others. Your sacrifice has already cost you more than you might know. If you had remained whole, I could have offered you a scholarship to the Mars Protectorate Naval Academy."
Her words hit me like a tonne of gravel. I knew I’d never be able to afford to go to school, but now a naval career had slipped through my fingers as well.
"You should also know you have an extremely loyal friend in Mr. James. He turned down that same offer earlier today. I apologize for being so direct, but we have a limited amount of time and many things to discuss."
My head was reeling, but this I couldn't let go. I turned to Nick with an urgent plea, "Nick, you can't. You have to."
"No. There is nothing to discuss," he replied.
"How can you be so certain?" I knew that look. Nick was done talking about it. I couldn't understand how he could have passed on such a chance. Then, guilt set in when I realized how relieved I was that he intended to stick around.
"Let's get through this conversation and then, if you still want to know why, we can talk it through."
Frak, that got my attention. Nick was on to something. He was calling a play and I would run it. "Okay," I replied uneasily.
Commander Sterra gave Nick an appraising look and continued, "Mr. James, I believe that to underestimate you will be your adversary's greatest downfall. Which brings me to what I wanted to discuss with the two of you. You may have wondered why Mars Protectorate granted your petition for a Letter of Marque. You have no need to protect corporate assets, nor do you have the means to provide this protection. As sympathetic as I am to your physical losses, that is not a compelling reason to grant your petition. If anything, it is a dis-incentive as you might consider looking for some sort of payback.
"No, the reason to grant your petition is relatively straightforward. Mars Protectorate needs enterprising young privateers to help us. We are not fighting a war against other nations; instead we are waging a war against highly organized criminal corporations who are able to evade us at nearly every turn. These corporations are, in some cases, supported by unfriendly foreign nations and in other cases, merely allowed to operate and take refuge.
"These organizations see us coming from a million kilometers and disappear on the solar winds. Your counterattack on the station was the first productive action we have seen within the last dozen years."
"The raids are coordinated?" There were always reports of raids on smaller colonies and Colony 40 was by far the largest mining colony to have been attacked, probably due to the perimeter defense guns.
"Gregor?"
Belcose sat up a little straighter in his chair and gave a quick downward tug on his vac-suit in an attempt to remove any wrinkles. I found the gesture amusing, as if a wrinkle could find its way into the fabric so tightly stretched around his massive frame.
"Coordinated is not strictly the right word for the raids we have seen over the last nine to fourteen months, but they are certainly related. We have good reason to believe the raids on this colony, Baru Manush, Delta and Jeratorn all have ties back to the same Asian corporation called Red Houzi. What isn't clear is the objective. Certainly there is a profit motive. In each case, however, they knew exactly how and when to best strike the colony."
Commander Sterra added, "They are getting bolder and better organized on each strike."
"I feel slow in this conversation," I interrupted. "I think Nick has already figured it out, but how can we help the Navy? What can the two of us do that you can't? You're the Navy. All we have is a broken down old ship that can't even fly."
"I think there is a much more important question. Are you willing to help the Mars Protectorate? Are you patriots or simply capitalists? Liam, I saw your team in action. You didn't hesitate when the right course of action became evident. You were willing to put yourselves in harm’s way to protect those you love. That is what I am asking for. The Mars Protectorate is a worthy cause, Liam. I am asking you to stand with us. Will you take that stand again?"
I have to admit I am a bit of a sucker for an impassioned speech and the Commander could obviously read me like a new headline. I looked around the table and saw pride in the faces of the other naval officers who sat straight in their chairs. When I turned to Nick, he gave an almost imperceptible nod.
"We're in Commander, but I gotta admit I still don't understand how we can help."
The tension level around the table dropped by degrees. At that moment, Steward Gellar brought out a tray loaded with plates of chocolate cake topped with chocolate frosting.
"Polly, your timing is impeccable as always. Is this the real cocoa?"
"Why yes, Commander. We just happened to have some of that left."
Commander Sterra chuckled at an apparent inside joke, "I am glad you decided on the Navy, Miss Gellar. We would all be in big trouble if you had decided on a life of crime."
"I couldn't agree more, Commander."
I know I had never had chocolate before that moment in time. I would have definitely remembered it. I also had never tasted cake that moist, sweet, and just plain delicious. It was pure heaven.
"So what would she have brought out if I had said we wanted no part?"
"Some things are best not asked, Liam." The commander delivered the last seriously enough that I considered she might not be kidding.
Steward Gellar also delivered coffee. The smell was incredible. The first sip burned my tongue and I was afraid I wouldn't be able to taste the cake anymore. Fortunately, that wasn't the case. I didn't initially love the coffee, it seemed to have an unusually bitter taste. But, when it had cooled and mixed with the flavors of the cake, I couldn't imagine anything better. It was a combination I'd never forget.
For a moment, the only sounds at the table were that of clinking forks on plates. "Have you been able to discover where the freighter went from here?" An idea started to form in my mind.
Commander Sterra put her fork down and looked at me steadily, "Ideas, yes. We have several of them, but that's not your question. You want to know if there is any chance to recover that cargo. The answer to that is no. Before we even arrived, that cargo had been offloaded and scattered. It is not the freighter you are interested in."
That pissed me off. She may have been right, but that cargo represented everything Big Pete had worked for. My next words came out hotter than I
expected, "Yeah, so what am I interested in?"
"Blaen Xid."
"The Sheriff?"
"Yes. We have completed our investigation and prosecuted the pirates you captured. Their only contact was with Xid. He hired them, provided the ship, organized the raid, identified Old Millie’s as a target, subverted the station's defenses and turned Deputy Zong. You want Xid."
"Revenge?" My mind whirred as I tried to process her words.
"Maybe. But revenge is not a long-term motivator. The Red Houzi will continue to prey on colonies and then run off and hide. We believe Xid had help here. The problem is, without Xid, we can't find the traitor. Liam, Red Houzi is still on this station."
"Who?"
"We don't know."
I looked at Nick again for confirmation. I could see it in his face. He was already there, but needed me to catch up.
"How can we help?" I looked back to Commander Sterra.
"What were you planning to do before you came over for dinner?"
Nick stepped in. He knew I was in over my head, "Repair the ship and set up a run."
"Do exactly that, but stay in contact. I am simply asking you to share information with the Navy. Now, let me turn the question around. How can we help you?"
I considered the question, but before I could form an answer, Nick slid a reading pad across the table.
"Help us get under sail. Nothing crazy. Repair the hull, slug-turret and nav-computer." Nick gave the pad a final push. "Also, you have a combat grade medical replicator and tank on board. Give Liam a military prosthetic."
Commander Sterra didn't hesitate, "Done. We will also install a communications system paired with the Kuznetsov. Now, how about a tour of my ship?"
READY TO SAIL
"So, you're telling me you're just done here? What about the claim?" Big Pete had remained relatively quiet when I explained that Nick and I were in business together. I wasn't about to mention the Letter of Marque or that we were working with the Navy. It wasn't that I thought they would talk, as much as I didn't want them to worry about me.
Mom pulled his hand over to her lap and held it, "Pete, can't you see? He's just like you. When did you leave home and join the Marines?"
"It's different." His voice was resigned.
"You don't believe that. Tell him how proud you are of him."
"It's not about that."
"Tell him." Mom was firm.
"He knows."
"Tell him."
"I am proud. He knows."
"He's sitting right here."
"I wish we had something to give you, son. Everything we have is wrapped up in this claim." Big Pete wasn't crying but his eyes were red. The pirates had taken more than I could imagine from him. I felt that they had taken away his dream.
The next morning I met Nick and Ordena for breakfast at the Gravel Pit.
"Fly it or scrap it?" Ordena was right to the point.
"Without considering the slug-thrower ammo and fuel, the scrap value of the ship is forty and maybe two hundred for the engines," I started.
"Xie Mie-su said the engines were worth a hundred each." Ordena countered.
"Sure, but that is an off-station purchase price for engines that are transportable. You also have to consider the price of removing them, packaging and transport. Two hundred is probably high." I didn't want to tip my hand, but I had practiced that line a million times in my head and I was nervous.
Ordena sat back and a flicker of a smirk crossed his face, "Fly it then. Okay, I'll bite. Two forty and I'll throw in the fuel."
Warning bells were going off in my head. He hadn't countered, which meant I had left money on the table. Only 30% of the fuel was his to throw in, but it made him sound generous.
"Any thoughts on a buyer for the ammo?" Ordena asked.
Nick answered, "I found a buyer on Baru Manush. Two hundred for the entire inventory."
"Good price and close by. Our boat isn't setup for calcium, but the Deuterium-3 would be possible." Ordena replied.
Our boat. That was the trap. He wanted to keep a share of Sterra's Gift.
Time to head this off. "We accept your valuation of the ship and fuel at two forty. Nick can you send Mr. Ordena his portion of seventy two thousand with a contract? Will that work for you, Mr. O?"
He paused and appeared to reassess. His lips pursed momentarily, then changed back to a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Good enough."
Nick said, "I just sent it. Mr. Ordena, if you will take a moment and sign that, we can work on arrangements for the ammo."
Ordena spread his hands in mock confusion. "What? Now? What's the rush?"
Time to put my cards on the table. He had hinted at other business and I wasn't about to be flexible regarding ownership of our one asset. I wanted to get to that other business. "Look, I don't want to be a pain in the ass, but I'm not talking any other business until we finish the ship business. We have a good deal on the table, let's get it done."
"Okay. Okay. You boys got a fire in your bellies and I can respect that. Give me a second." Ordena pulled out a reading pad and reviewed the contract Nick had sent. At his signed response, I noted, with a little sadness, that our account balance had dwindled to thirty thousand m-creds. But Nick and I were now the sole owners of Sterra’s Gift.
Ordena looked up from his reading pad, "Now that we have that out of the way. I have forty cubic meters for Puskar Stellar."
Nick answered, "What kind of mass?"
"Three thousand give or take."
"How much bond and what are we carrying?"
Ordena stood up, "I might have underestimated you. No bond, but it has to be off-book and no one looks in the crates. Paying fuel plus twenty-five all on delivery. No contract. Let me know."
Once we got back on Sterra's Gift, we split up tasks. The bridge was my problem and the engine room was Nick's. It took nearly an hour to remove all of the junk and broken parts. I marveled at how the military grade prosthetic had improved my life. I still had no feeling, but the motors and artificial sinews in the ankle and foot responded to my nervous system perfectly.
By mid-afternoon I had made it into the captain's quarters and the three bunk rooms and removed all of the litter and old clothing. My big discovery of the day was a flechette pistol and shoulder holster. The next couple of hours of cleaning duty were pretty much ruined because I was so enamored with it. A flechette pistol fires small darts at subsonic speeds using compressed gas. The gun was no good against armored troops, but the ammo was inexpensive to replicate. The other advantage of a flechette pistol was I could wear it in public. It was illegal to carry laser weapons and slug-throwers in most places, but a flechette was considered a non-lethal self-defense weapon. I adjusted the holster and strapped it on. It would take some getting used to.
"I'm going to make a run over to the transfer station." I hadn't heard from Nick in a few hours and imagined he was similarly engaged. "Any garbage you want me to haul off?"
"At least a dozen bags. We don't have a reclaimer or even a compacter."
"Put it on the list, I guess. Do you have a replicator there?" I was working my way back to the engine room, having thrown all of my garbage bags into the airlock. It would be a real trick to squeeze past them all and cycle the lock on the way out.
Nick had a pile of garbage bags blocking the hallway. I moved past them to find him sitting cross-legged with a pile of wires hanging out of a panel on the starboard side.
"Hope you know what you're doing with that." I wasn't overly concerned. Nick was pretty good at this type of thing.
"General Astral Cutter – Model CA12. Look under the folder /corporate/fleet/SterrasGift/E14. It's the gravity assist system. Give me a minute and I think I can close it back up." Nick had a tool belt on and was working with a soldering pen. True to his word, he neatly tucked the wires in and bolted the panel back in place. E14 was stenciled on the upper right hand corner of the panel.
"Where is the corporate folder?" I wasn
't sure where to find it.
"Oh, sorry. Central computer was still installed, but the storage sticks were all missing. The computer is in an armored cabinet and whoever trashed the ship didn't have time to break into it. I added a couple of sticks to get us going. We'll need to buy more. Pass-key is basswood."
Link Sterra's Gift. Admin access basswood.
A new set of folders showed up, superimposed on a virtual panel floating in space. With my helmet up, the AI was able to paint imagines directly onto my retina.
Browse Sterra's Gift.
My vision filled with a translucent picture of a perfect CA12 Cutter. No banged up hull, no scorch marks, everything fresh from the factory. View Bridge. The model zoomed in to show what the bridge was originally meant to look like. I wondered how detailed the picture might be and decided to test it. Schematic Pilot's Chair. Now I was looking at a picture of the pilot's chair and could see its original design. Inspect foot. The diagram zoomed into the foot. Send foot to replicator queue. I wasn't interested in manufacturing the steel feet but I wanted to see if the schematic was detailed enough to manufacture replacement parts.
I received a notice that I had a part sitting in queue and it would require a Class 1 industrial replicator to complete. The good news for us was the cost of parts manufacture was always found in the intellectual property and not the materials. The replicators were expensive, but on-station replicators weren't hard to rent. You paid by the hour and material. On a mining station like Colony 40, you could replicate metallic alloy parts all day long. We had a fairly endless supply of material.
"Did the ship come with full schematics?" I asked Nick.
"No, but the Navy has them. It was on the list I gave Sterra."
"And she gave them to you? We should change our name to Brass Nuts."
"Is that a gun?" Nick asked, pointing at my left arm
I pulled it out of the holster, opened the chamber and handed it to him, "I found this in the captain's quarters. Cool, right?"
Nick turned it over in his hands a couple of times, smiled, shook his head and handed it back to me, "You gonna wear that around the station?"
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